We just got the start wrong
by Blue McLain
Summary: After an unexpected encounter the previous night Spencer wakes up the next morning, and with a head like cotton candy he just wants to go to sleep again. The thing is, he remembers he isn't alone. The thing is, he turns around and sees he is. M/R Slash. One-shot.


This is just something I wanted to get out of my system before I move on to something maybe a little more comprehensive. I hope you all had happy holidays and just in advance I wish everyone a Happy New Year. Get there safely, dearies!

And as always: this is _**Slash**_! And not that subtle this time.

Have fun!

* * *

_Testing, testing, I'm just suggesting, you and I might not be the best thing. –_ **Marianas Trench **

**_ –_**

A jolt rips through his body and he is awake.

His eyes fly open and he cannot fight how his heartbeat speeds up, and for a moment he simply lies there, with muscles stiff and an instinctive awareness and an echo ringing faintly in his ears, like a door slamming shut.

After a moment he realizes he is just being stupid and slowly he releases a breath he wasn't aware he was holding, and he forces his eyes shut and his body to relax. A shudder dances across his shoulders and he presses further into the cushions and pulls the the blanket up higher. The alarm clock on the night stand signs in pale green figures 06:24. In the morning. On a Saturday.

Spencer groans and pulls the sheets all the way over his head. He shouldn't be awake. Unless they would get a case, the team has the weekend off, officially, he should be sound asleep for at least three more hours.

So he takes a deep breath, his nose growing cold kind of cold in the chill air, and he rolls to his other side because it is a morning like any other and he needs to use these opportunity to sleep in.

Except that it isn't. Like any other.

The moment he turns around, Spencer remembers that it actually isn't. And yet it sort of is, because the other half of his admittedly rather narrow bed is empty. Even though it shouldn't be. For once and unexpectedly and Spencer should have remembered sooner, shouldn't have forgotten in the first place – but it shouldn't be empty.

His face contorts at once and he raises to his elbows. The bedside is empty. And one of the first thoughts that come to mind, one of may but one of the most prominent, is that this is wrong. Simple as that.

Reaching out a hand, he touches the sheets because maybe it is only temporarily abandoned to use the bathroom or get some water or whatever. But it is cold. And it isn't even half past six in the morning. On a Saturday off.

Spencer really tries to keep his breath even, but the thoughts that float through his head (of which some are truly ridiculous) make his heart rate speed up and he cannot help it.

There are no sounds coming from anywhere of his apartment, or at least he cannot perceive any. And after another minute of hesitation he throws the blankets aside to get out of bed. And he realizes that he is naked.

With a displeased sound in the back of his throat, Spencer pulls the covers back into his lap and looks for his underwear. Not too far away, luckily, he can grab it with his toes without having to get out of bed. Slipping into them, he tries not to be embarrassed. It isn't like anyone would see anyway, right? And it isn't that he is ashamed of his nudity, he just doesn't like to sleep naked. It makes him feel lost, somehow, and uncomfortable.

06:31 now, and still no sign.

And his butt hurts.

Well, not exactly and not only – his whole body is aching with sore muscles and stiffness. But his backside still stands out. He touches his rump, walking up to the almost closed door, and he refuses to limp. It isn't that bad. He would exaggerate and act like it is worse than it actually is, anyway.

"Morgan?" he calls as he pulls the door open.

He tries not to be disturbed by the emptiness of his living room. It isn't even empty, everything is in its proper place, even the cookie jar that served them dinner last evening is still sitting on the coffee table in front of the couch. It is just that Derek isn't here that makes it seem empty.

"Morgan?" he calls again, but of course there is no answer.

'Of course' because of many reasons. For one, neither Derek's jeans nor his shorts are in the bedroom – and he lost both there. Second, his shirt isn't in the living room – where he lost it before his pants and shorts. Spencer walks on to see if Derek is maybe sitting in the kitchen, fully clothed, with a cup of coffee, on way too early on Saturday morning.

Derek isn't.

The kitchen is as empty as the living room, the bathroom is empty and Derek's boots don't wait in the hall next to the door.

For a moment, Spencer stands in front of the couch, a faint picture of the night before clouding his eyes, and is busy comprehending the fact that Derek snuck out on him. Of all the things he thought of, when daring to imagine this situation, all the things he thought possible, all the awkwardness he envisioned… the possibility of this scenario somehow never occurred to him.

He never considered that he might wake up alone just as well.

This is nothing, though. Nothing at all. It isn't like Spencer has any right to make some kind of demands or reproach or anything. He might have thought differently and he might have behaved differently, but in the end neither of them has made any promises. Spencer really, really wants to believe that. No harm, no foul. He wants to believe that and he doesn't want to feel hurt. He has no right to feel hurt.

He shoves the feeling of being hurt as far away as he can.

Rubbing his inner elbow, he isn't sure what to do now. How to go back to normal after the previous night. Then he remembers that it isn't even seven in the morning on a weekend off and that he hasn't had the chance to sleep in in about a month, so he shuffles his feet one last time and heads off to bed again after a quick trip to the bathroom.

In the end it is a morning like any other. Spencer is alone. And even though it isn't like any other, it shouldn't be, he thought it wouldn't be – ultimately it is.

Pushing the door to, he crawls back under the covers.

Several minutes he just lies there, jaw clenched so hard it hurts, body tense, mind filled with the fact that, after a night like that and even years of being friends, Derek didn't even wait for dawn to break through to disappear. And with a mind like Spencer's, this is a hell of a lot brain work, especially on a Saturday morning around seven.

The thing is, he doesn't get it.

Sure, Spencer knows Derek long enough to know how he is when around women he might be interested in. He knows that Derek has yet to meet someone he would stay with longer and that the strings attached to his previous partners, if at all, were loose at best. But – and this is where things start to get complicated – he thought that he himself, Spencer, would be… well, special. That it would be different, if, when, once this thing would get started.

Obviously, Spencer got things wrong.

Obviously, as much as they are friends, it is nothing more than that, for Derek.

And in all honesty, Spencer is more upset because of that, because of everything that happened, because of _himself_, than he would like to admit.

He _knows_ that Derek cares about him, very much so. He knows that Derek values their friendship as much as he himself does, and that Derek would never do anything to deliberately hurt him.

So Derek must be thinking it wasn't anything more than a little fun for Spencer, too. And Spencer is so furious at himself that he has read it all so wrong.

Harshly he pulls the pillow over his head and tries to block the world out as much as he can. There are so many thoughts for a thing so simple and Spencer doesn't want to think, doesn't want to let it constantly run through his mind how he hasn't been able to realize things sooner, to understand how things are beforehand.

Because they are so different for him than they are for Derek.

Right now, though, he just wants to go back to sleep. Doesn't want all that now, later, in a few hours, just not now. Not now.

Blood rushes through his veins that his body grows uncomfortably warm and it makes it hard for him to settle down. He tries, though, with all his might.

And he is so consumed in focusing on nothing but to fall asleep again that he misses how the bedroom door, that wasn't even fully closed, slides open again and how someone creeps inside. Spencer misses the silent footsteps over the carpet and he even misses how the bed dips on its other side.

Only with the hand sliding over his belly and a foreign arm lowering its weight onto his hips does his brain work its way back to consciousness.

His eyes fly open a second time this morning and in a matter of not even three heartbeats Spencer jerks away and bolts out of bed, gripping the sheets tightly and tangling his legs in them. He halfway falls off the mattress and hits his knee on the floor but he is back on his feet immediately. Twirling around instinctively, he still holds the blanket, as if it could be of some use to defend himself.

And for what?

To come face to face with a half naked Derek Morgan lying in his bed and staring at him like _Spencer_ just came up and scared the living daylights out of him.

Derek really stares at him, with a puzzled look on his face. Spencer's heart races in his chest and his system suddenly demands more oxygen than usual, he gulps air in deep breaths and it makes his fingertips tingle. He still clutches the blanket, covering his lower half.

"Wow," Derek finally says after another moment of silently staring at each other. "Sorry, didn't mean to make you jump, man." It doesn't sound honest for an apology.

"What?" Spencer huffs and it sounds too high-pitched. "What are you doing here?" Other than lying only in his boxers in the bed as if Spencer just _dreamed _to wake up alone.

"You remember last night?" Derek asks doubtingly.

Spencer wheezes an unwilling laugh, because what kind of a question is that, directed at him? But the sudden movements take a toll on him and he feels dizziness shooting from his feet all the way up to his head. He covers his eyes and his shoulder bumps against the wall behind him, and Derek's body twitches as if he wants to rush at his side to catch him. He doesn't, though.

"No," Spencer finally answers, brows furrowed deeply. "I mean yes, but I mean what are you _doing_ here? You were gone when I woke up and I, you're here now and I – " It is amazing how little things like that can sometimes make him feel like he is losing it. How they remind him that one day he really might lose it.

A few seconds Derek looks like he has been caught. Then his expression settles for serenity. "I got us breakfast," he says.

"Breakfast." Spencer's voice still sounds kind of too high but his heartbeat and breathing are slowed again.

"Your fridge is practically empty," Derek says offhandedly. "And I'm a big guy, I need to eat." Sounds too easy.

"It's seven in the morning," Spencer says, desperately trying to get his point across, to make some sense. "It's _seven_ in the morning and you go to get breakfast after what happened last night?" Spencer really tries but he cannot wrap his head around this and he really thinks hard but, "I don't think I understand."

"Hey now," Derek says, scooting closer to the edge of the bed on Spencer's side. "I'm sorry. It's all good, okay? I need food and so do you, even more, if I might add, and I woke up and I thought I could get it. I didn't think you'd notice. I'm sorry I left and got you worried." Somehow that still sounds too simple and something inside Spencer's head won't let him accept Derek's explanation in its simplicity. "Come on," Derek pleads after another minute of silence. "It's Saturday, come back to bed, okay? We're supposed to sleep till noon and get some lazy breakfast and then the day can maybe start."

Spencer still isn't convinced and Derek notices it – Spencer, after all, isn't exactly subtle and his face gives more away than it hides in most cases.

"Pretty Boy," Derek sighs, "you said it yourself, it's _seven_ in the morning. I want to sleep and I'm sure you want to as well. Just come to bed now. We'll talk about whatever you want in a few hours. Just not now, okay? Let's sleep."

Then why did you leave, Spencer wonders.

He doesn't say it out loud but gives in. Doesn't take the hand Derek offers but crawls back to bed a second time this morning. Without looking, he shoves about half of the blanket in Derek's direction. He isn't used to share but that doesn't mean he doesn't know how it works. Trying to get comfortable under his part of the covers, he turns his back on Derek and faces the edge of the mattress which is closer to his face than usual.

There is some rustling behind him, then silence.

And _then_ there is this hand on his belly again, warm and calloused. It doesn't stay there but slides further up to somewhere close his chest. After that there is an arm weighing on his hip again and suddenly Derek's body is pressed to his, with his belly against the small of Spencer's back and his chest against Spencer's shoulders. The stubble of Derek's chin scratches over Spencer's shoulder blade and finally his mouth settles in the crook of Spencer's neck.

Wow. Oh boy.

Spencer's eyes, that were so forcefully closed, open as Derek's breath hits his skin and it makes him realize how impossibly close Derek is.

An unusual warmth is pooling at his back, pulsing and vivid, and its unexpected presence presses into Spencer's consciousness. He suddenly gets very aware of how odd this situation is, him lying here, almost naked, spooned by Derek, his friend, his colleague, who is just as almost naked. His breath is warm and comes in regular puffs and it makes Spencer's skin crawl and he wants to pull away and shudder and get some control back, but he can't because this is Derek and he knows Derek would never hurt him, even though he could, he wouldn't.

He had dozens and dozens of chances and he never did, so this here, Spencer desperately wants to believe it this is not to hurt him, either.

And it isn't Derek he wants to get away from it is this whole situation he feels he isn't able to handle, it makes him nervous and itchy and like he is about to jump out of his skin.

But for the sake of he isn't sure what he tries to lie still and to breathe evenly, but the more he tries the deeper every breath reaches and the more it feels like it isn't enough and he just cannot deal with all of it.

Derek moves behind him. The hand close to his heart crawls up even more almost to his throat and the arm comes to rest across his chest and Derek's stubble scrapes over his skin.

"You're not hyperventilating, right?" he murmurs close to Spencer's ear, and his voice vibrates between Spencer's shoulder blades.

"Mh-mh," is the only reply and Spencer holds his breath immediately. He swallows thickly and licks his lips, his whole body going rigid. His gaze flickers aimlessly as he can feel Derek's eyes upon him.

"You're not even trying to sleep," Derek says.

Spencer squeezes his eyes shut and forces air into his lungs. It feels like he can really pull it off now, like he can do this long enough to fool Derek and maybe even long enough to fool himself to make this situation go away until the awkwardness vanishes.

But Derek doesn't give him enough time. Suddenly Spencer finds himself lying on his back with Derek straddling his lap. He isn't really sitting on his hips, Spencer doesn't feel any weight on him, Derek is just hovering with his legs left and right from Spencer's body. That way, Derek looks down on Spencer and Spencer cannot bring himself to hold his gaze. Derek is just so… so impatient.

"Is it me?" Derek asks.

"Are you what?" Spencer replies, trying his hardest to avoid getting any glimpse of that very naked chest above him. He almost grounds his head in the pillow beneath him just to get his eyes as far away from Derek as possible.

"Am I making you uncomfortable?" Derek asks, and there is an almost hysterical laugh scratching in the back of Spencer's throat.

Being uncomfortable doesn't even _begin_ to describe the state he is in.

"Hey," Derek says and nudges Spencer's hipbone with his knee when there is no answer for too long. So impatient.

"It's nothing," Spencer says then, frantically hoping Derek will just drop it now, keeping his fingers busy with rubbing the bedsheets because he doesn't know what else they would do, if they would get the chance. The previous night comes rushing back into his mind and the picture of Derek now towering over him is overlapped by another one, very similar, with Spencer on his back and Derek in front of him, with one of Spencer's legs hooked over Derek's shoulder, with Derek's hand tangled deeply in Spencer's hair.

"I can see your heart beating," Derek says and maybe it isn't even supposed to be teasing but Spencer feels like it, very much so.

He lifts his hand and covers his eyes, to block out everything and regain some sort of control. It doesn't help. In the darkness behind his lids he sees everything, all at once, how it started with a kiss, how it continued in lost shirts and naked skin and how it escalated in limbs and sweat and heat, and oh God. His fingers dig deeper into his scalp. His heart really is beating like crazy.

"No need to blush," Derek says. Teasing it is, Spencer decides.

"Well, I'm sorry this isn't what you hoped for," he hisses and with that he attempts to leave this bed. Derek's thighs tighten around his waist to hold him in place but Spencer has years of educated expertise of wiggling out of unpleasant situations and it won't stop him. But then there is this hand on his shoulder, pushing him back into the mattress with a force that presses the air out of his lungs.

"What?" Derek asks harshly. "What d'you mean, what I hoped for?"

"I…" Spencer hides his face behind both his hands and says nothing.

"What is it?" Derek wants to know.

"Nothing," Spencer tries again.

"Is it me?" Derek asks.

"It's not you," close to whining now.

"Then what is it?"

"It's because it is you!"

Derek lowers his weight as he sits back and Spencer can feel the fabric of his shorts against his thighs. Blood is rushing hotly through his veins and his throat constricts painfully. He feels so exposed that he thinks he would do many things just to be able to hide.

"So it's me," Derek states blankly.

"No! Not it's not you, it's…" He rubs his eyes with his wrists and pulls the pillow down to cover the upper half of his face. The best hiding place he can find now.

Moments of silence go by and all Spencer can hear is the pulsing in his ears and his own breathing. He feels Derek's hand suddenly covering his heart and he inhales deeply, instinctively, to dodge the tough but the expansion of his chest only presses further into the palm. It isn't moving. It isn't demanding. It is simply there, absorbing the beats.

"I woke up and you weren't there and I, I couldn't think and you were gone and I was… I just, I got so… _angry_ at you," Spencer admits, really admits it to himself as well. It is easier now that he doesn't have to meet Derek's eyes. Still, his whole body is so agitated that the breathing pattern on his side is completely out of rhythm.

Derek takes a second to react. "I told you," he says then, "I was just getting breakfast."

"I know," Spencer says immediately, "I know and it's not about that, it's not that. I woke up and you weren't there and I was, I thought and I just was so angry at you."

There is still that hand covering his heart and that weight resting on his middle and Derek's voice telling him that, "It's okay."

"It's not," Spencer contradicts, resting his arms on the pillow now, only for a second or two because his muscles are so tense they feel close to tearing and his heart, God, his heart still beats as if it is about to break Spencer's ribs. Spencer knows this isn't possible but he isn't sure he believes it any longer. "It's my fault, I mean – " he huffs " – for whatever reason the previous night happened, I had no right to assume it was anything but that or to get angry at you because of it, I mean you, we didn't make any promises – "

He stops as he feels a tugging on the pillow and tightens his grip again.

"C'mon, let it go," Derek says and he really doesn't use any strength or force but Reid ends up losing the pillow anyway. Yet one arm remains to cover his eyes. "You got every right in the world to be angry at me, when you wake up and I'm not here."

Spencer is sure he is bright red by now. His pale skin flushes way too easily, it always did, and for most of his life it made things even worse, providing a great opportunity for his peers to mock him even more.

"I'm sorry," he says quietly. "I just feel so stupid." Because it isn't Derek he is actually angry at – it is himself, for being angry at Derek, for getting so worked up, for being so foolish as to simply assume things and then being angry because he was wrong.

"You really thought I'd leave you like that?" Derek asks. The hand above his heart has disappeared.

"I don't know," Spencer says. He didn't but he did, he hoped, he feared – this whole thing confuses him to no end.

"Wow," Derek exhales, something like a rueful laugh ringing in the air with that single word. "That hurts. Guess I can't blame you, though. But you listen now, okay? You don't have to look at me but you listen." Spencer gives a little nod. "I know my reputation. So it's probably no wonder you freaked out. The thing is, it was mutual. Okay? When I went home with someone, they always knew what to expect."

Not everyone, obviously.

"But that was them and this is you. There is a difference, you get it? I wouldn't have done this, if it wasn't about more than just a fuck for me. And I don't know why last night happened but I'm glad it finally did."

Derek allows a minute or so to let his words sink in. Then Spencer spreads his fingers and peeks through them, and sure enough Derek's eyes already await his. 'Finally' sounds kind of accurate to Spencer.

"I'm sorry I left," Derek says once more. "But I came back. And I don't plan on leaving again."

Spencer closes the gap between his fingers and starts rubbing his eyes again, as if it could stop the mental pictures from flooding his mind or the blood from rushing to his head. But it is probably better if it takes this direction and not the other.

"That is, if you don't kick me out now," Derek adds, a voice like a shrug.

"Why would I kick you out?" Spencer replies. "You didn't do anything wrong." In retrospective, he really didn't.

"I obviously did, else you wouldn't be like that," Derek says. Then Spencer feels him move again as Derek bends forward and crosses his arms over Spencer's chest and ends up covering most of Spencer's body with his. Heat returns to paint his skin, and there is a low sound coming from Spencer but not because of the additional weight on his torso, which isn't that bad, actually. "You weren't so shy yesterday."

"I'm not shy, I'm just not used to this," Spencer says, "and to you being so… naked." He points a hand at Derek's body but it goes unseen by both of them.

"I think it's safe to say that, including yesterday, you already saw me a lot more naked than I am now." He says it so easily. "How's your ass?"

Spencer honestly cannot believe it. "Fine."

"Really?" And doesn't sound that even slightly amazed.

"No, but I won't admit to you otherwise."

And when he hears Derek's soft laugh and imagines the smile that accompanies it, Spencer forces his hand down and his gaze to meet Derek's. For one moment he feels the urge to keep avoiding it. Derek moves like a cat on him, light and with ease and so elegant, like a lion or a cougar. It is some sort of amazing that Spencer isn't bursting into flames by the way his cheeks are burning.

"Hey," Derek says after awhile.

"Hey," Spencer croaks.

"You okay there?" Derek asks, and where Spencer felt like being teased before, he recognizes real concern now. And he thinks that, maybe, being stupid on this early Saturday morning is okay. He nods and Derek just keeps looking at him.

"I'm just," he starts. He is always 'just' but the right words are hard to find, there are too much and he cannot decide which to use in order to get out what needs to be said. "I don't know what to do. I would, you know, if you could tell me what you expect from me now, I would really appreciate it."

"Expect from you," Derek repeats, voice going up ever so slightly in something like surprise.

"I'm not used to this," Spencer reminds him again, because it is true and Derek knows and even without the previous night screaming between them, he wouldn't really feel the need to lie about things like that.

"So we get used to this together," Derek states.

"Together? To what?"

"To us."

Getting used to each other – that could sound rather stupid, considering years of friendship and the feeling of Spencer that there are few people out there who know him to such an extend as Derek does. But this here is so new and maybe getting used to _this_, to each other on this level isn't so wrong after all.

Spencer says nothing and Derek says after a moment, "Just to make things clear, and I want you to get this. This is not about fucking for me."

Licking his lips, Spencer hesitates but decides that he experienced so much awkwardness today that it won't matter any more. So, "Not even a bit?" he asks, trying hard to sound normal as good as he can.

Derek looks at him, a surprised expression edging on his features. Then he picks up on whatever Spencer tries to convey here – he isn't even sure about that himself, but maybe Derek is. Or maybe he isn't and it is simply the way he is or it is something unconscious. He narrows his eyes as if he thinks for a second. "Maybe a little," he says.

"Okay. So," Spencer says slowly with the tiniest of nods, "this… I mean, this wasn't the last time?"

"If I have a say in it?" Derek frowns. "No. Definitely."

Spencer nods again. Slowly, he thinks, he comes down from an unpleasant high and settles back inside himself. The fluttering inside his chest calms and he feels how the heat disappears from his face. To hold Derek's gaze is easier now and it doesn't weigh so heavily upon him anymore.

"I think I want to kiss you now," Spencer says because he doesn't know what else to say and because Derek is so close and because with the images of the previous night burning in the back of his mind, Spencer would really want Derek to want it, too. "Would that be okay?"

"You don't have to ask," Derek says and Spencer wants to say that yes, he does, because of himself and Derek and things that never should have happened.

Instead he just lifts his head, halts and lifts it some more to press a short kiss to Derek's lips, eyes open and only the smallest hint of lasting.

When he pulls away again, Spencer isn't sure what to expect next, so it is nice to see Derek has some sort of idea. He smiles as if to say _That was cute_, and then he leans down for another one. Less cute. It is a close mouthed touch of lips and then it isn't. Different from the previous night, though. The previous night was blindness and heat and lust, ignorant things like that, and now it is warmth but not heat. Eyes are closed but not blinded. And the lust still smolders but doesn't fume so much anymore so that the only thing left to breathe is each other.

He only now notices that his head lies back in the pillow again and Derek follows and it is kind of lazy and nice and he really could get used to it.

To Derek stretching out next to him, too, he thinks.

Now Spencer is facing Derek, unlike before where he turned his back on him. They settle with another kiss, or another kiss that is more than just one, and Derek's arm finds its way around Spencer's waist and Spencer doesn't know if too much bodily contact okay, but it seems it is and he gives in – or he tries, at least.

"We sleep now, then we eat, then we talk. Okay?"

Sounds as good as any other plan, so Spencer nods and takes a deep breath and really tries not to think about Derek's arm around him. He closes his eyes and notices too late that he is nibbling at his lower lip.

"Hey," Derek says, "is this okay or – "

Spencer feels the arm being lifted and grabs Derek's elbow to keep it. "No," he says quickly. "I mean yes. It's okay. Really, it's just, it's new and I don't… but yes, I…" He nods and stretches his lips in what he hops is an encouraging way.

Derek contemplates those admittedly not easy to understand words for several heartbeats. Then he simply scoots closer, arm heavy and warm around Spencer, foreheads leaning against each other, ready to fall back asleep and apparently already almost done.

"I would've never thought of you as a cuddler," Spencer says into the closeness.

Unlike Spencer, Derek has his eyes closed and keeps them closed but still arches an eyebrow. "I'm a man full of surprises," he murmurs.

"Yeah," Spencer breathes and cannot fight the smile creeping onto his lips. This situation right here and the previous night are probably two of the most surprising happenings in his life.

Cracking one eye open, Derek looks at him and realizes, "You not really sleepy, are you."

"I am," Spencer says, wide awake.

Derek doesn't look very convinced as he nods and exhales slowly. Spencer doesn't exactly know what it does to him, but seeing Derek so relaxed kind of calms him down in a way that makes him think that, maybe with a little more time, he could feel that comfortable around Derek, too. In that way, that is. Generally Derek is one of the not so many people Spencer truly feels like he can be himself around.

This here is just too unexpected and Spencer needs to adjust.

"Don't overthink it," Derek says. "It's not that complicated. And we'll figure out whatever bothers you. For now trust me when I say, I'm not doing anything and I'm not going anywhere and I'll back off, if you tell me to."

Spencer nods. "Same here," he says. "If you, you know, if you need me to leave you alone, you just have to say so." For they both are people who could rather easily be triggered into some sort of ugly flashback or hurtful memory, Spencer knows.

Derek, though, stretches his muscles contently and their noses touch. Spencer twitches automatically to avoid it but Derek follows and Spencer leans into the touch after a second. "Right now I'm pretty satisfied," he sighs. No need to back off, Spencer figures.

Lips find lips and lazy kisses ensue. A laziness Spencer isn't accustomed to. A kind of closeness that doesn't seem to demand anything. Spencer hasn't experienced something like this in a situation like that before, but he guesses he might be able to adapt to it, if it really is meant continue.

And while he doesn't think he could ever get tired of kissing Derek like this, it might relax him enough to rest for a few more hours. At about eight in the morning.

On a Saturday off.

* * *

So, that's it for now.

Tried something different this time, different at least for me. Usually I stick to the _you_-thing some of you might already be familiar with. I wanted to see how this would turn out, using a more common method, for me. I'm still not really sure what I prefer myself, but I guess for the first time with those two it turned out okay.

There's already a sequel playing in the back of my mind. I don't know when I will get down to it but if things go as planned, it will be written and it will get on here.

Anyway, I'll see you in the new year!


End file.
